Constant Craving
by Kismet2
Summary: In which John has a sleepless night, and comes to some interesting conclusions regarding his tempting apprentice (with just the teensiest bit of help from an outside source.)


Title: Constant Craving

Pairing: Constantine/Chas

Rating: R for language and extreme UST

Disclaimer: I profit not.

Warnings: AU, with a bit of fluff, quasi-spoilers for the end of the movie

Summary: In which John has a sleepless night, and comes to some interesting conclusions regarding his tempting apprentice (with just the teensiest bit of help from an outside source.

A/N: OK, for this fic, let's suspend reality for a second and pretend that, though it was a close call, Chas didn't actually die that night at Ravenscar. He had simply passed out before John commanded Gabriel into the light. Afterwards, Angela was the one to discover that Chas was still breathing. Also, I should note that the mentions of the angel phyla of "Carrions" and "Virtues" were inspired by Sylvia Browne's Book of Angels. It's my first slash story, and my beta has dropped off the face of the planet (read: has midterms), so this is unbetaed. Er, incidentally, the last paragraph or so decided to take a turn towards the fluff, so you'll have to excuse the excessive foofiness

_Even through the darkest phase  
Be it thick or thin  
Always someone marches brave  
Here beneath my skin  
Constant craving  
Has always been_

K.D. Lang, "Constant Craving"

He gave up the battle and opened his eyes. The bedside clock read 3:32. John Constantine sighed. He wasn't getting back to sleep any time soon. Even if he could get his brain to calm down, he'd never be able do the same to the aching arousal between his thighs. At least, not as long as he was around the warm, sleeping figure that was curled against his side. Gingerly, he untangled his limbs from those of the body beside him and slid out of bed. Slipping into the wrinkled white shirt he'd left lying on the bedside chair hours earlier, he cast one last mournful glance at his warm bed and the curly-haired kid sleeping in it. At least Chas was finally getting a good night's sleep- he couldn't begrudge the kid that.

The first week after the battle with Mammon had been the most nightmare-filled, sleep-deprived week John had ever experienced- and that was saying something. Of course, the actual nightmares were reserved for Chas, following his brush with death (and worse) at Ravenscar. In the harrowing minutes it had taken to get Chas to the emergency room, John worried that Chas wasn't going to make it. But the doctor's examination had simply revealed a lacerated scalp, a concussion, a broken nose, and three broken ribs on the right side, with no major internal injuries. The attending doctor in the emergency room kept giving John suspicious looks, probably thinking something along the lines of "abusive pimp." Afterwards, once the kid had been examined and his wounds bandaged, the doctors insisted on keeping Chas for "observation" for a few days. The nightmares didn't actually appear until the first night Chas returned home from the hospital. John wasn't the type to offer up his own bed, and Chas wasn't the type to ask for it- especially not when John was letting him stay at his place after Chas had been evicted from his own, so Chas ended up sleeping on the old pull-out sofa in the living room. A few hours after John had gone to bed, he was awoken by the frantic noises coming from the next room. Pausing only long enough to grab his cross-shaped shotgun, John barreled into the living room, clad in nothing but boxers, ready to face hell- only to find Chas held not in the grasp of some vengeful demon but simply a bad dream. Reassured, John turned around and went back to bed. Waking Chas would have only made for an awkward situation, and besides, John didn't do comfort.

Every night, the pattern continued. Chas would face his own demons and bad memories in his sleep, waking every few hours, screaming and drenched in sweat. And John, already a light sleeper, would lie there in bed and pretend like he wasn't listening to the sounds of terror and pain coming from the living room. John didn't do comfort, and he sure as hell didn't do generosity, but on the eighth night, after an hour of listening to Chas's thrashing and moaning, John had had enough. Tossing back the covers, he'd marched out of his bedroom, crossed the living room in three short strides, and gently shook Chas awake, mindful of his injuries. Before Chas could reacquire the cognitive processing necessary to so much as mumble a simple "whatthefuck" John had helped him to his feet and had him headed back towards the bedroom. When Chas was finally able to string together enough words to make an inquiry, complete with requisite expletives, John had just gestured to the bed, saying, "You're sleeping in here from now on." Chas, for his part, hadn't argued. He gave John a sleepy, questioning look, apparently saw what he was looking for, and then wordlessly crawled into bed, favoring his injured right side. John had climbed in after him and bundled him back against his chest, before saying quietly into his ear, "No more nightmares, ok kid?" It was more of a command than a question, so it really didn't matter when the curly head nodded in agreement. Chas didn't have any more nightmares after that.

But John still wasn't sleeping. Now that he wasn't being woken by Chas's nightmares, he was being kept awake by Chas himself. It wasn't through any actual fault of Chas's. It was just that certain parts of John's body refused to settle down when faced with an armful of sleepy, squirming teenager- which was how he came to be stumbling blindly into his darkened kitchen, intent on downing enough scotch to forget the throbbing between his legs and the curly-headed imp causing it. The imp that was completely unaware of how utterly tempting he was, and how much John wanted him. John shook his head, snorting derisively. Great, now he could add pederasty to his ever-growing list of sins.

"You're not a pederast John Constantine."

A pair of pale blue wings seemed to have miraculously sprouted from inside of his refrigerator, which was open. He would never have admitted it later, the fearless exorcist actually gasped in surprise. He then tried to cover it with a steady stream of curses, directed at the white-clad creature straightening from its crouch behind the refrigerator door.

"Goddamn half-breeds! Get the fuck out. You're not welcome here."

The winged figure didn't so much as spare him a glance, but instead opened the freezer door and began to ramble through it, speaking in those cultured British tones that seemed to be so common to half-breeds.

"Do you not have anything edible in this kitchen John? I mean, you're skinny enough," pale blue eyes the same color as the wings swept over him, "But Chas is a growing boy. He needs nourishment. Man cannot live on fast food alone. And besides, he- Aha!"

The half-breed stepped away from the fridge, victoriously brandishing a half-empty carton of Ben and Jerry's in his hand. He grinned at John. "The kid's got good taste."

That did it. It had been a half-breed that almost took Chas from him in the first place. Now this one was invading his apartment, rambling through his kitchen, and doing god knows what else. He strode up to the other figure, grabbing a fistful of white tunic and growling into his face, "Maybe you didn't hear me the first time. Get. The fuck. Out," he paused, then added for good measure, "You bastard."

The half-breed wasn't fazed. He smiled up at John and said, "Bitch," then sprang away, settling into the Indian-style sitting position on the kitchen table, wings flared out behind him. Grabbing a dirty spoon from last night's dinner off the table, he proceeded to dig into the ice cream carton, pointedly ignoring John's icy glare.

He spoke around a mouthful of ice cream, "Bitch, not bastard. If you're going to insult me, you might as well be accurate."

"Angels don't have a gender," John sneered.

"Now that's where you're wrong," _she_ said. "We don't have sex _organs_. But whether we choose to have a sex or not is a different matter altogether. Just because Gabriel was a gender bender, doesn't mean that the rest of us want to be. Other than Gabriel, how many of us have you actually been around? I was under the impression you were a _demon_ologist."

John's lack of an answer was answer enough. She continued, "Besides, do I look like a male to you?"

It was times like this that really made John miss smoking. He studied "her" for a moment, taking in the elfin features, the long dark hair, the slight curve of the chest. He shook his head. "No. You look like a woman. Now, how about getting the hell out of my apartment, _bitch_."

Apparently the angel found that funny. She smirked, "Yes well unfortunately, I'm not here to discuss whether I'm a bitch or a butch. Although, for the record, I'd prefer to be addressed as Rona. But that's beside the point. What I'm really here to talk to you about is Chas. You're not doing right by him John. You-"

Before she could continue, John interrupted, "Yeah, let me guess. My slate hasn't even been clean for two weeks, and I've already screwed myself over by lusting after Chas. Spare me. I've heard this tune before, half-breed. 'You're a sinner John. You're going to Hell John. Basically, you're fucked, John.'"

Rona opened her mouth, then closed it again. When she finally spoke, it was with an air of great amusement, "No. You're not fucked. But you should be. Fucked, that is. Well-fucked. By Chas, if I have anything to say about it."

John shook his head, clearly confused. "But the Bible…"

"Yes John, I know what the Bible says, just as well as you. But I also thought you knew that the Bible isn't the only source of God's word. The Torah, the Koran, the Bhagavad-Gita, they all have their own take on it. So do the Wiccans and the Buddhists, for that matter. But they're all man's take on the word of God. Some of them have gotten the point better than others, but no one really has it perfect yet," she shook her head, "I thought you knew this…" John remained quiet, so she continued. "There are the big sins of course, the ones that ensure you a one-way ticket," she gave John a pointed look, "But there are also grey areas. Love is love, no matter what gender lines it crosses."

But John was shaking his head. "So, let me get this straight," he scoffed, eyes narrowing, "You're here to ensure that I fuck Chas because it's only a _minor_ sin."

"No," she shot back, "I'm here to ensure that you let Chas know how you feel, _fucking_ included, because he's your ticket into Heaven. Chas is the one who's going to keep your feet on the path. _Chas_ is the one who's going to keep you on our side. Why is this so hard for you? I know you lo-"

John cut her off again. "DON'T say that. I don't. I can't. There's no place for that in my life. It would just make him a target. Besides, he's just a kid."

Rona turned her eyes skyward with a long-suffering look, before stepping down gracefully off the table and striding towards John, her wings dissipating from view to make movement easier. "He's not. Chas hasn't been a child in a very long time- not since that night you pulled that demon out of his drug-addled bitch of a mother. And loving- I'm sorry, being in a _relationship_ with Chas won't make him any more of a target then he already is."

John leaned back against the counter, arms crossed stubbornly. "I'm not going to start something with Chas just because some glorified parakeet on a power trip wants me to."

She shrugged, "Then don't. Do it because _you_ want to." She glanced at the area where his now-deflated erection once was. "Surely you're not going to deny the evidence I saw you sporting when you first walked into this kitchen?"

John ground the words out, "Fine. I want him. Doesn't mean he wants some lecher twice his age groping him." Ignoring Rona's interjection of _"Bullshit!",_ he continued, "And he's injured. I wouldn't take advantage of him like that."

If John hadn't known she was a creature of the light, he would have sworn the grin the angel gave him was purely wicked. She said, "Well then, why didn't you just say so?"

_Minutes later…._

"You can't heal him. Angels can't do that. Gabriel couldn't heal my lungs. And even if you could, it would tip the balance."

"No, it wouldn't. Chas is a good soul, and he's healing already. I'd just be helping the process along. And I've told you already, you can't judge all angels based on your dealings with Gabriel. He couldn't heal your lungs because he was from a completely different phylum of angels. Gabriel was a Carrion, charged with observing evil and keeping it from harming beings of the light." She paused, then spoke again with a note of derision, "Or, at least, that's what he was supposed to do."

John interjected, "And that's not what you do?"

She answered, "No. I'm a Virtue- a guide and a healer for the beings on our side. That's why you haven't seen one of my kind until now."

"I was on your side before."

"No, you weren't. You were on your own side. There's a difference. One that's beside the point. Now if you don't mind, let's get on with it, shall we? I believe you have an apprentice sleeping in the next room who will be very glad when you run out of excuses to keep from touching him."

John acquiesced, "Fine, let's do this. Maybe then you'll leave us the hell alone."

The angel smiled, pleased at John's use of the word "us." "Yes, maybe I will."

"You know, one of us was there with Chas that night at Ravenscar, keeping his heart beating after his body went into shock," Rona whispered conspiratorially to John as the two of them entered the bedroom. "And here you thought God didn't care about what happened…"

John had often wondered how Chas had survived the beating Gabriel had given him. For the first time, he felt something other than aggravation towards the angel standing beside him. It wasn't quite gratitude, but it was close.

And then she was speaking again, "I'm going to have to get on the bed with him to do this. You just hold him. He'll probably sleep through the whole thing."

Simultaneously, they both climbed onto the bed, one on each side of Chas. Warily, John lay down, gently gathering Chas into his arms as he had for the past few nights, with Chas's back to John's chest. Rona lay down on Chas's other side, facing him, and laid one hand lightly on Chas's cheek. Her eyes met John's, things grew hazy for a moment, and then…John and Chas were encircled by a pair of pale blue wings. John could feel the energy pulsing through Chas, seeping over and flowing into his body as well. Chas shifted slightly in his sleep, letting out a low, pleasured moan. John knew what Chas was feeling because he could feel it too, dripping down his spine, twining around his insides like a lazy cat, making him feel languid and aroused and sated all at once. His arousal was back in full force, pressing into Chas's lower back. John exhaled, slowly, shakily, and pushed slightly forward, not quite thrusting, but eliminating all space between his body and Chas's. There was a sensation of being almost too full for his own skin, a tightening, and then…the wings were gone, and so were the sensations they brought with them, leaving a relaxed, languorous feeling behind. John closed his eyes, reveling in it.

There was a giggle, and then the mattress shifted as a weight was removed. John opened his eyes to see Rona standing beside the bed and smiling down at him, eyes sparkling. She nodded towards the doorway to indicate she was leaving, then turned to go. John lifted his head. "Rona?"

She stopped and looked back at him. "Yes John?"

"If this harms him in any way, I'll hunt you down, rip your wings off, and force feed them to you myself."

She just winked at him. "A simple 'thank you' would have sufficed John." And then she was gone. But John could have sworn he heard a whisper of, "See John, just because one can't have sex, doesn't mean one can't have an orgasm." But before John could process that last bit, Chas was rolling over in his arms, turning his body to face John's and showing no signs of stiffness or pain.

And before he could stop himself, John was trailing the fingers of one hand slowly up Chas's spine and back down. Chas muttered a sleepy, confused inquiry. "John?"

Now the errant hand was softly petting Chas's curls. John spoke, "Just go back to sleep kid. I'll be here in the morning." Chas snuggled closer, nuzzling John's neck, "Mmkay." And then he was still, asleep again. And with their bodies that close, skin to skin, legs intertwined, John knew that soon there would come a time when he needed more. He also knew that when that time came, Chas would give it. But right then, at that very moment, all that mattered was the sleeping teenage boy he held in his arms and the warm new sensation he felt- the one he couldn't identify, having never experienced it before. But one day in the not-too-distant future, when John held Chas in his arms again, and the feeling was a little more familiar, he would realize it for what it was- contentment.

A/N: OK, so that's my story. Hope it was okay. Before you ask, I assumed that since there wasn't any evidence against it in the movie, Constantine-canon half-breeds can eat (unlike Kevin Smith's Dogma angels). Whether or not they have digestive tracts…I doubt it, but that's anyone's guess. But having Rona rummage through John's refrigerator and eat Chas's ice cream was a good way to annoy John, and I suspect she quite enjoys doing that.


End file.
